


Residual Effects

by Phoebe_Hunter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Shameless Smut, Swearing, Table Sex, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoebe_Hunter/pseuds/Phoebe_Hunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The memory thing you did. Are there ever…side effects?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Residual Effects

**Author's Note:**

> This is shameless Peter/Isaac smut in the aftermath of _Chaos Rising_. That's probably all I can say about it. It's a bit rough but it's taken me way too long to write and I really should be focusing on other things, so I thought I'd polish it off and post it so I don't keep fretting about it. I've read portions of it 10 000 times and I don't have a beta reader at the moment, so if there are typos I do apologise. I'm probably not seeing the mistakes anymore. 
> 
> This is technically underage, but as the age of consent where I am (and in many other places) is 16, and as I don't actually know how old Isaac is, I didn't use the "Underage" tag. Consider yourself warned. :) 
> 
> Also, if you were to really stretch the definition of dub-con, this might qualify. There is some suggestion that some of the *cough* desire on the part of one character has been caused by the claw/neck thing that Peter did to access Isaac's memories. If that's likely to bother you, please don't read. But it's by no means heavy with the dub-con, and I prefer to think that what Peter did caused some...latent emotions to rise to the surface. ;)
> 
> I think I write Peter as too nice. I should remedy that. Maybe with some Petopher. 
> 
> Concrit is always welcomed, kudos and comments are cherished and appreciated.

Peter answered the door after the first knock. He quirked one eyebrow, his eyes flicking from Isaac's loose track pants and battered trainers to his sweaty hair, tousled from the run. Peter's blue eyes were alert but there were shadows beneath them and Isaac could smell scotch on his breath.  Isaac had half expected Peter to be asleep -- it was after 3am -- but he was still in jeans and a shirt, and Isaac could hear the quiet hum of the television in the background.

 "To what do I owe this pleasure?" Peter asked.

Isaac shoved his hands into his pockets and tried not to think about the dreams -- if they could be called dreams -- tried not to remember the phantom feeling of Peter's fingers on his throat, his wrists, his hips, the heat of Peter's lips against his, the weight of Peter's body pressing him down. And thanked anyone who might be listening that Peter _hadn't_ been asleep, because the mere _thought_ of a rumpled Peter answering the door in only a pair of pyjama pants…

  _Fucking alphas. Stupid fucking alphas with their memory tricks and their…_

 Peter coughed, jolting Isaac back to the present.

 "The memory thing you did. Are there ever…side effects?" Isaac said, before Peter could get in a sarcastic remark.

 Isaac's exhaustion had become almost tangible; a blur in the corner of his eyes, an unsteadiness in his hands. Undershot by a flash of satisfaction -- _I found them_ \-- and the throbbing, open wound that was Erica's death. He kept his thoughts from brushing that too often, flinched from the rawness of it.

 And now every time he closed his eyes he opened them and looked into Peter's.

 Peter's gaze sharpened. "What sort of side effects are you talking about?"

 One of Peter's neighbours clattered out of an apartment down the hall and there was a sudden burst of laughter and thudding bass before the door closed again.

 Isaac glanced over his shoulder. "Do we have to have this conversation in the corridor?"

 Peter shrugged and stepped back, waving Isaac inside. Peter's bare feet were silent on the polished floor boards as he crossed to the kitchen and Isaac decided that the most alarming thing about Peter (and there was a long list of alarming things about Peter) was his ability to be seem…almost benign. Almost.

"There are sometimes residual effects," Peter said over his shoulder as he retrieved his scotch from the kitchen countertop. "It's uncommon, but it's not unheard of."

"How long do they last?"

 "Why? Are they making you uncomfortable?" Peter's eyes flicked up and caught Isaac's. He wasn't smirking, not precisely, but there was the beginning of a smile curving his lips. He took a sip of his scotch, his eyes never leaving Isaac's face. "What's happening?" Correctly interpreting Isaac's expression, he sighed. "You can hardly expect me to help if I don't know what's wrong," he said. Always reasonable.

Isaac swallowed. "I'm having dreams."

"About?" Isaac would have put money on Peter already knowing the answer to that. But damned if he was going to give Peter the satisfaction of seeing just how uncomfortable he was. He forced himself to meet Peter’s cool gaze.

 "You."

 "I'm flattered." The smile blossomed into a full-blown smirk as Peter set his glass down.

 "Do you think this is funny?" Isaac didn't realise he'd stepped forward until he stopped, close enough to Peter that he could have reached out and pressed his palms to Peter's chest. "Erica _is dead_ \--" his voice cracked-- "the girl who rescued me is probably dead, Boyd's going to be dead and it's all just a fucking joke to you, isn't it?"  His hands had been trembling all afternoon. He clenched them into fists, nails biting into his palms, trying to steady the pounding of his heart. He could taste blood in the back of his mouth.

 If Peter had said something -- anything -- Isaac might have been able to turn around and leave. But Peter just stood there, watching him, face unreadable. And Isaac couldn't tear his eyes away from Peter's lips, Peter's throat, the skin of Peter's chest exposed by his shirt. He could smell the spice of Peter's shampoo, the tang of his sweat, the coppery bite of the blood pulsing just beneath his fragile skin. 

 Isaac grabbed a handful of Peter's shirt, hauled him closer and kissed him.

 For a moment it was mess of lips and teeth. Isaac wasn't sure whether he wanted to kiss Peter or bite him. He wanted to _hurt_ Peter the way he was hurting, watch Peter's smirk crumple, see a flicker of fear in those measuring blue eyes. He wanted Peter to stagger, unsteady, while the world tilted on its axis. He wanted…

One of Peter's hands rose to cup Isaac's face, tilting his head. The touch was so gentle it stilled Isaac for just long enough for Peter to take control of the kiss, softening it into something like a détente. Peter's mouth tasted like scotch, the rasp of his stubble a rough counterpoint to the softness of his lips.

The fingers on Isaac's cheek slid up to tangle in Isaac's dishevelled hair as Peter's other hand settled on Isaac's hip, tugging him closer.  Peter's hand tightened in Isaac's curls as his teeth caught Isaac's bottom lip and nipped. Isaac shuddered as Peter's thumb slid under the waistband of his track pants, brushing against his hip. Peter dragged his thumbnail lightly along Isaac's hipbone and Isaac's catch of breath turned into a groan, low and rough. Peter's hand was so close, so close to where Isaac needed it…

 "Peter," Isaac gasped. And that name on his lips was enough to restore him to sanity, just for a moment. He jerked away, wide-eyed. "What the fuck?" He was painfully aware that the track pants were doing nothing to hide his arousal. 

 "Come on, Isaac," Peter's voice was almost gentle. "You could have asked Derek about the side effects. You could have picked up the phone." Peter's eyes dropped to Isaac's crotch and Isaac could feel the colour surging to his cheeks. "You knew _exactly_ what you were doing when you came here." Isaac wasn't quite trembling, but the mix of embarassment, need and uncertainty was almost dizzying. He was too tired to deal with this, too strung out on fear and grief and uncertainty. He didn't know what he needed, what he wanted. Or maybe he did know what he wanted, and that was the problem.

Peter took a step closer. "Did you think," Peter said, taking one of Isaac's hands in his, "that I wouldn't smell it all over you the moment you stepped through the door?" He turned Isaac's palm over and traced a fingernail down Isaac's lifeline. "That I wouldn't know exactly where your hands had been?" He raised Isaac's fingers to his mouth and pressed a kiss to Isaac's palm.

Isaac couldn't move, couldn't look away, and when Peter released him and stepped back he felt the loss of contact like a blow.  

But," Peter said, raising his hands, "if you'd rather not--" he tilted his head towards the door-- "don't let me detain you."

"I don't want…" Isaac's fingers were still knotted in the fabric of Peter's shirt. He disentangled them one by one.

 Peter smiled, reaching out to brush his knuckles down Isaac's cheek. "Liar," he murmured.

 "I…" 

 Peter cut him off. "As _adorable_ as the Bambi-eyed denials are, I have much better things to do than stand here watching you have an existential crisis. The Sopranos is on. Make up your mind, Isaac. This is beginning to bore me."

 "I don't even like you," Isaac said.

 "I know."

 Isaac almost managed to take a step towards the door. But his eyes fell to the bulge in the front of Peter's jeans and the surge of need took him by surprise, robbing him of his breath. Peter had mastered the art of keeping his heartbeat perfectly controlled, but he couldn’t hide that evidence of his desire.  He wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be.

Isaac took a deep breath and caught the edges of his tshirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Peter's eyes travelled slowly down Isaac's bare chest, his mouth curving in appreciation, and Isaac felt himself flushing under the scrutiny.

 "Are you just going to stand there looking?" Isaac shot for bravado, maybe feel a little short.

 Peter smiled, stepping forward, and rested his hands lightly on Isaac's shoulders. "Patience is a virtue." He let one hand slide down to palm Isaac's cock through his track pants and Isaac sank his teeth into his lower lip to keep from crying out. The friction of the fabric was somewhere just short of painful.

 "Do you think you're in a position to be lecturing anyone about virtue?" Isaac managed.

 Peter leant in so their lips were almost touching, his breath hot against Isaac's face. "I like you, Isaac,” he murmured. His nails ghosted up over Isaac's ribs and then drifted across to circle one of Isaac's nipples. And Isaac needed Peter's skin against his more than he'd ever needed anything in his life.

 Isaac shoved his hands under Peter's v-neck, hooked a claw in the collar and yanked. The fabric parted like tissue paper.

Peter pulled away. "I liked that shirt," he said.

"You can cry about it later," Isaac told him.

The noise Peter made might have been a chuckle or a growl -- Isaac didn't have time to consider it, because Peter's hands were back in his hair and Peter's mouth was on his, hot and insistent. Isaac ran his hands over Peter's bare back, exploring the contours with greedy fingers as Peter crowded him back against the table. He curled his hands around Peter's shoulders, bringing their chests together, and the heat of Peter's skin against his was scorching. Peter's tongue was in Isaac's mouth, and Peter's hands seemed to be everywhere at once, one moment tangled in his hair, the next moment hard on his hips. They slid around to cup Isaac's ass  and Isaac felt his claws extend, and his fangs lengthen as Peter lifted him and seated him on the table.

"Easy," Peter's hands closed over Isaac's wrists, his voice was rough and amused. "There's no need for that."

Isaac tried to bring his shift under control and failed miserably. It wasn't like the full moon -- the soft red haze of rage, the need to rip, to tear, to kill -- but it was just as potent. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and tried again. Just as unsuccessfully. He felt his cheeks burning crimson.

"Really?" Peter asked. He sounded so genuinely incredulous it was almost flattering. "All of those strapping young lacrosse players in the locker room and you haven't…" he raised one eyebrow.

Isaac looked away. "We've been busy." 

Peter was obviously feeling benevolent, because he let the point drop. Isaac wasn't quite naive enough to think that it wouldn't come back to bite him at some point. Probably hard and painfully.

"What's your anchor on the full moon?"  Peter asked. He sounded almost bored, but his thumbs were tracing soothing circles on the insides of Isaac's wrists. 

 "My Dad."

 "Probably not appropriate in this context." There was definitely suppressed laughter in Peter's voice.

"You think?"

"You know that Derek's anchor is anger? Well, you can use desire in the same way." Peter's hands brushed up Isaac's arms and settled on his shoulders. "You shift because you're trying to hold yourself back, to fight it. Your body reacts as though it's a threat. You need to accept it. Embrace it. Close your eyes."

 Isaac did as Peter asked. He could still feel Peter in front of him, smell the warmth of his skin and hear the steady rhythm of his heart. Peter's hands were firm on his shoulders, steadying him. "Focus," Peter murmured. "Just breathe." His fingers trailed down Isaac's ribs and settled on Isaac's thighs. "Stop fighting," he murmurred against Isaac's ear, his teeth catching Isaac's earlobe. Isaac's hips jerked as Peter's thumbs traced the seam of his pants. He didn't mean to speak but he couldn't help the soft _please_ that escaped his lips.

 "See?" Peter's hands settled on Isaac's waist and Isaac realised he'd shifted back without realising it.

He opened his eyes, exhaling shakily. "I'm not sure I can keep it under control," he admitted. 

"It doesn't matter. If you slip, you won't hurt me," Peter said. "And I won't hurt you," Peter added, tongue tracing the line of Isaac's jugular. "Unless you ask nicely."  

"That's not helping," Isaac said between gritted teeth.

"Oh I'm sorry." Peter was _definitely_ laughing  now.

Peter's thumbs hooked in the waistband of Isaac's pants, tugging them down. Isaac realised he was digging his fingers hard into Peter's shoulders and slackened his grip as Peter raised a hand and pressed his fingers to Isaac's lips.  Isaac parted them without thinking, sucking Peter's fingers into his mouth. Peter made a soft sound of approval and Isaac wondered if he'd make the same sort of sound if it was his cock in Isaac's mouth instead of his fingers. If Isaac was on his knees with Peter's hands in his hair. The thought startled him into a catch of breath and he nipped at Peter’s fingers. He heard the slight hitch in Peter’s heartbeat and did it again, letting his tongue slide across Peter’s palm.

Peter withdrew his fingers, dragging his thumb over Isaac’s lips, and wrapped his hand around Isaac's cock. Isaac let his head drop forward onto Peter’s shoulder, setting his teeth against Peter’s collarbone to keep himself from crying out. Isaac knew he was whimpering, his breath coming fast and ragged, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The world narrowed until nothing existed but the pressure building in his stomach and the base of his spine. Peter set a rhythm that was just a little slower than he needed, the hand on Isaac's thigh keeping him pinned to the table.

"Fuck," Isaac panted. "Fuck, Peter, please." He knew he sounded _wrecked_ , his voice cracking as his hips bucked against Peter's grip. Peter's other hand slipped down, the side of his nail catching Isaac’s nipple, and Isaac didn't give a fuck what Peter thought as long as he didn't stop. " _Please_ ," he said again, and this time Peter quickened the pace of his strokes. Some distant part of Isaac was embarrassed by how quickly it was going to be over, but most of him just wanted Peter to keep going, wanted Peter in ways he'd never wanted anyone before. The dreams had made him hot with shame and guilt but mostly they'd just made him _want_ , want to know what it would feel like if Peter had shoved him back against the table and pressed into him, if Peter had pinned him up against the wall and fucked him slow and hard and...

“Let go, Isaac,” Peter said against Isaac’s ear. “Let go.”

 Isaac bit down hard on Peter’s shoulder as he came, shuddering in Peter’s grip. He went limp, pleasure still rippling through him, as Peter stepped away, detatching Isaac's fingers from the beltloops of his jeans. Peter's lips were a little swollen, his shirt in tatters and his hair tousled. There was a fading bruise on his shoulder from Isaac's teeth. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping his fingers. He was still hard in his jeans.

The sob took Isaac by surprise. It cracked and became a giggle, high and hysterical. It was all too absurd. There was a pack of alpha werewolves out for blood and he was sitting on Peter Hale's dining table with his cock out and his pants around his ankles. The laughter forced its way out and Isaac slumped forward, shoulders shaking, until he couldn't breathe and the tears in his eyes spilled down his cheeks.

"I don't usually have _this_ effect." Peter's voice was very dry.

"Shit." Isaac wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Sorry."  He slid off the table, steadying himself. And if there was a dignified way to pull your pants up, Isaac definitely hadn't found it. "I'll go."

Peter sighed. "With the alpha pack on the prowl? Take the couch."

"What?"

"I'm not a _monster_. Take the couch." Peter retrieved the glass of scotch and padded over to the stairs. "The remote's on the table," he said from the top step, and vanished into what Isaac could only assume was his bedroom. 

Isaac took an experimental step and decided that a couch, even Peter Hale's couch, was definitely preferable to a run across town with the twins on his trail. He flopped down, shoving cushions out of the way, and let his head fall back against a particularly plush pillow. "That was weird," he said to the ceiling. The nervous energy that had kept him up and running for so long seemed to have disspitated, leaving a heavy, aching exhaustion. 

Isaac heard the shower turn on as he closed his eyes. He wasn't, he told himself, going to eavesdrop on Peter in the shower.

He wasn't. 

**Author's Note:**

> There is plenty more where this came from, so if you would be keen for more Peter/Isaac, let me know. 
> 
> If you want to come chill with me on Tumblr, I'm [here](http://silverintheblood.tumblr.com/). I'll probably be taking prompts soon, so if that's something you'd be keen for you could follow me. :)


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